Ghosts
by lovablegeek
Summary: PostS3 - What's left of the Time Agency wants Jack on their side, and they've brought an unexpected bargaining chip. JackIanto - One shot


"You know, stalking is not as charming as you people seem to think."

The Agent across the table didn't smile. Se never smiled, which only brought this whole thing to new heights of irritation. If the tattered remnants of the Agency had to track him across the known universe, they could at least have a sense of humour when he snapped back.

"I'm not here to charm you. I'd like to talk business." Se laced many-jointed fingers in front of hir, and eyed him with an expression of utmost calm. The worst part was that se probably meant it. In the Agency... stalking might as well be a polite hello.

He looked down and speared something on his plate. He wasn't sure what it was, possibly some sort of alien potato, but it was infinitely more interesting than former Time Agents who couldn't let go of the past. "Funny thing. I don't care about your business. I just want you to leave me alone."

Hir expression didn't shift, but somehow became a few degrees cooler. "We can't do that."

Jack set down the fork and shoved the plate to one side. "Why not?" Hir eyes fell pointedly to his wriststrap.

"Because you're walking around with a badge of Agency authority." Se didn't even bother sounding threatening — at most, he caught a hint of amusement. "You don't want to help rebuild, I won't force you; just give us the wriststrap. It's your choice."

He'd heard enough. He stood up and leaned forward, hands braced on the table. "I don't think you're in a position to make ultimatums. The Agency's gone, and you can find someone else to help you play out the sequel. I'm done. Follow me again, I will shoot you." He started for the door. Se didn't follow, though he half-expected hir to.

Instead, two steps out the door, he felt a _presence_ over his shoulder, falling into step just behind him. "I think that last threat may've been a bit much," said a familiar voice. He couldn't breathe, couldn't turn to look. "She didn't look impressed."

* * *

"You're dead."

"I was there."

Ianto sat on Jack's bed, looking at him like he might be an idiot, or crazy. Jack was starting to agree with him on at least one count. He set his back against the wall and folded his arms over his chest.

"So you can't be here." He shouldn't have to point out that a dead person couldn't follow him halfway across the universe. He also shouldn't have to deny what sat right in front of him, when a few months ago, he'd have given anything to see Ianto apparently alive and well, even eyeing him with an expression of mild and growing annoyance.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Ianto answered wryly.

Jack pushed himself away from the wall with a soft growl. Moving closer, he noticed details — Ianto was dressed the same as the day he died, but less dishevelled, no bruises, no gash on his cheek. Just as Jack remembered him, and that was the problem. He stopped a metre away and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms.

"I figured if I was ever going to start losing my mind and hallucinating, it would've been a long time before now." Silence, for a moment. "You're not real."

He dropped his hands, and was almost startled to see that Ianto was still there, rising to his feet now, stepping toward him. Jack reached up, unthinking, to brush his cheek. His fingers tingled, like passing through a faint electric field, but nothing met his fingertips.

Ianto shied away from his hand; Jack couldn't blame him. He wouldn't want someone's hand passing through his face either. "Given past experience, you might be a little more accepting of the idea that there might be such a thing as ghosts. We've both seen stranger."

"That's... different." Even as he said it, he knew it sounded stupid. "I don't believe in ghosts. I believe in gloves, echoes of emotion, certain techn—" He dropped his hand abruptly, and lunged for the door.

* * *

"What the hell did you do?"

It hadn't been hard to find the Agency bitch. He thought se might stick around, and pale berry-purple was not a common skin colour on Beren. Se turned to face him, coolly tucking a few strands of hair behind fringed ears. "You're going to have to be more specific. I've done a lot of things."

"Ianto," he ground out.

Se didn't answer for a moment, and then rolled hir eyes, and reached into hir pocket. He expected a weapon, but what se held up was a small, thick disc. When se tossed it to him, he caught it instinctively. "I thought you might be just a little grateful."

He inspected it — buttons, red blinking light — and looked back to hir suspiciously. "What is this?"

"Psychic recorder and projection unit. Amazing what you can do with something like that, in combination with a functional vortex manipulator... which, by the way, you could have, if you'd only—"

Jack's hand tightened on the disc, careful not to hit any of the buttons. "So what, he's a bargaining chip? 'Join our stupid club and we won't switch off your—'"

"I'd considered it an act of good faith. A gift, if you like."

He looked down at the disc — at Ianto's consciousness, in effect, blinking in his hand. Good faith indeed. _You can always count on a Time Agent to come to the negotiating table; the question is whether they'll poison the drinks._ He slipped it into his pocket despite the feeling he'd just been handed a ticking bomb. "If you're waiting for me to say thank you—"

Hand on hir wriststrap, se was gone before he finished speaking. Jack blinked blue-white spots from his eyes and turned away, painfully aware of the weight in his pocket. He almost wished he believed in ghosts, now; given a choice between that and Agency games, he'd take superstition.


End file.
